Written on Your Heart
by Stacee Phelps
Summary: Greatest fears...
1. Arthur

**Title: Written on Your Heart**

**Author: Stacee Phelps**

**Disclaimer: I do not own 'King Arthur' and I am not getting paid for writing this.**

**Author's Note: This is a story for the story challenge on kingarthurfanfiction on Yahoo! Groups.**

**Summary: Greatest fears…**

**-8-**

_Arthur_

What people can fear astonishes me. Spiders, snakes, woads, earthquakes, storms, battles…All of it depending on the person involved.

I have been asked, "What do I fear?" but by the most unexpected people-my knights. They ask only because in the past three years they have served me, half their number is gone. They seek to understand me-I who led them and their comrades to certain death. Now, one they deeply care for is hurt. Galahad, the youngest of my men, has suffered a critical injury-a deep sword wound to the left side. He has already lost so much blood, and his friends worry for him.

They lash out at me in their anguish, seeking to blame someone for the injury one of their own has endured: I who led them into this in the first place. They ask in their fear-not wanting to lose another, especially one they all favor such as Galahad.

At sixteen summers, he is still so much a boy, looking at the world so curiously. He has been made a killer, but that does not stop him from having a caring heart. He looks up to all his friends, but none so much as the strong five.

Lancelot, with his quick tongue and even quicker swords, does not treat Galahad like the boy he is, but a fellow warrior. Tristan, the tracker, one who is becoming as stoic as a rock as more time passes but still manages to retain his youth, only deep down. Gawain as the older brother, always protective but never admitting it, and Dagonet as the voice of reason, the acting father figure as the oldest of the group, and then there is Bors; the man who, in the three years under me, already has three children with his lover, Vanora. A man, who even though acts as if he doesn't give a damn, worries the most.

These are the men blaming me, senselessly asking me questions to anger and hurt me. They are the ones asking me the impossible. They do not know what they are asking of me.

My greatest fear is something that surprisingly is common. One experienced by every man in this camp. The fear of caring. Except, instead of letting it hold them back, my men push on, which is what I should be able to do, but my fear stems from something I will never forget. The only person I ever cared about was violently taken from me and I never let myself grow close to another being. That is why I do not get close to the men-for I fear losing them.

But, as I sit here, away from the fire, I come to realize something. I have failed. For I have gotten to know my men, and consequently, come to care for them. That is why I fear for Galahad's life. As I sit here watching my men tend to the wounded teen, I know what their reactions are and I know what they're feeling because of the trials I have been through with them.

Lancelot is commanding everyone, letting his pretend anger hide his concern. Tristan is calm and seemingly unemotionally sitting by a tree close to Galahad's head, hovering in a silent vigil. Gawain sits by Galahad, holding the boy's hand and whispering words into his ear. By the look on the blonde's face, he was giving the younger man reasons to stay alive. Dagonet and Bors were sparring as quietly as possible nearby, the older man lending support and release for Bors as they fought.

All these men caring so much for one of their own Sarmatians almost makes me envious, for I know I will never be cared for like these men.

I may be a fair commander but I am still Roman.

And as I sit here away from the fire, my life-blood running down my side, I realize that that is my only failing.

**-8-**


	2. Lancelot

**Thanks to those that reviewed, and here's a little more.**

**-8-**

**_Lancelot_**

Morning came and we were relieved that Galahad has survived the night. Apparently the boy has more spunk than we thought.Now, everyone rises and we know we must head towards Hadrian's Wall and the physicians if we hope for Galahad to live. Arthur enters the camp and orders us to start packing up. He moves to Galahad's side, which Gawain and Tristan unwillingly give up.

The Roman has the guile to push back the boy's hair and whisper one of his worthless prayers over him. But, it was Arthur who had carried Galahad from the battlefield to the campsite and who initially took care of the younger man's wounds. We owe him thanks, but will not apologize for driving him out of the fire-circle.

It's him and his bloody Rome that is the reason our knights are like this. Dead and dying and for what, a country, a cause, not of our own?! What is the purpose?

But, we were fortunate enough to find ourselves under Arthur's command. He is not the worst commander, but I would be the last one to sing his praises.

As I watch him sitting near Galahad, the rest of the men dismantling camp, I notice that our usually tan commander is looking a tad white. Actually, he looks like he will fall over any moment. And as he stands, I notice him sway and shake his head. Something is not right…

But then the order to move out is given and Arthur mounts his horse as the rest of us help Gawain maneuver Galahad onto his. The others are grumbling about the Roman, thinking back onto last night. They don't see how he tries to remain in his saddle with a pale and sweaty complexion.

Hours later, Dagonet and Tristan are aware of our commander's failing health as Arthur sways in the saddle now and again. We share glances but they won't say anything and neither will I. That's when we heard Arthur grate out,

"Tristan, go ahead and scout a place to stay for the night." The scout nods and rides past Arthur, who is riding at the head of the procession. As Tristan's horse cleared a couple feet, Arthur's mount suddenly began to snort and move around in distress. Tristan turned around to help but it was too late.

Arthur's brave warrior stallion suddenly reared up and pawed the air. The Roman, in his stupor, was immediately thrown from the beast's back and impacted solidly with the ground.

Tristan, Dagonet, and myself scrambled from our mounts as Bors, Gawain, and the rest roared with laughter. I reached Arthur first, but all three of us could easily pick out his shallow breathing and the blood that was already pooling on the ground.

Arthur's eyes stared painfully at the sky and he almost appeared unawares.

Vaguely, I hear Dagonet yell for the others to be quiet as Tristan and I fight to remove Arthur's cumbersome armor.

Arthur was now weakly protesting and trying to stop us but I would not hear any of it.

Finally, we got the chest plating off and I swore as we saw his injury. It was much like Galahad's but impossibly deeper and untreated. It was a cut that ran from hip to rib on the left side and bled freely. There was so much blood on him that I think the bleeding hasn't stopped since he'd received the injury.

The men, realizing at last that something was wrong, gathered around us and I could tell that Arthur was not pleased, but too injured to comment.

Ultimately acknowledging where we were, right in the middle of the road, I turned to Tristan and he nodded. Getting up, he moved to search for a place nearby to camp at.

Bors took his spot and handed me the herbs and supplies we had just used on Galahad and then looked down to Arthur.

"Bloody bastard, why didn't you tell us?" Arthur's expression turned sad as I searched for something to stop the bleeding with.

"Last…night, you asked…what I was afraid of." His weakened voice startled me and I looked to meet his gaze. "I fear becoming too close to you, all of you, and…" one of the men shouted,

"What is a Roman too good to befriend Sarmatians?" Arthur closed his eyes and a shudder ran through his body.

"No, I fear getting to close and then losing any of you. You…are my knights…and I have failed you." Arthur's eyes then rolled into the back of his head and his body went lax. I checked for his pulse and barely felt it.

Then, I sat back. Arthur's words surprise me because I had no idea he felt so guilty. Before he had passed out, I could see it in his eyes. He felt guilty for not being friends with us.

Shaking my head, I looked up to Dagonet and saw my confusion in his eyes. Hearing the men grumbling, I rolled my eyes and then looked up as Tristan returned.

"There's a spot only yards away." I motion to him to grab Arthur's armor and weapons while Dagonet helped me carry Arthur. Being careful around the wound, Dagonet and I carefully lifted the Roman, I the head and Dag the feet. We carried him towards the spot, leaving the men to care for our horses. Gawain followed close behind with Galahad, quietly pointing out bad patches of ground.

After a while, we reached a small clearing centered within the trees and waited until Tristan had put down a blanket before we laid Arthur beside a tree. The Roman did not move.

Bors suddenly appeared and handed me the bandages. Looking to Tristan for aid, I went to work to save Arthur's life.

**-8-**

It was late into the night but hardly anyone slept. The men leave it unspoken but they fear for Arthur's life. Our commander is dying and none of us are healers, unless one counts Tristan and his meager skill.But, the men are also very angry, Bors leading them. They are upset with Arthur because he did not "trust" us with his health. They believe he didn't trust us enough to do all we could for him.

There is one cause for joy through all this. Galahad awakened during the night and anxiously told us that Arthur had been wounded trying to pull the young teen away from the battle. He had gone to sleep filled with worry over our Roman commander.

I sit beside Arthur now, lightly bathing his forehead. He burns with fever and talks in his sleep. He speaks in what I can only assume is Latin, but he does call out one word I can understand- Mama. He tosses and turns and his wound has only just stopped bleeding. Arthur is extremely weak and his distress is waning, as does his body. Tristan is sitting next to me fixing another paste we can try on the wound.

The wound has stopped bleeding but is a fiery red and hot to the touch. It's not quite infected but nearly there. We have practically done all we can, but we can not move him yet, either. Concerning Arthur's health, we are stuck between a rock and a hard place.

**-8-**

**_Arthur_**

Waking up is always painful, but it seemed that this time was even worst than most. My side felt like it was on fire and my back throbbed painfully. Through the agony my body was enduring, I could sense the things going on around me. I could feel two people sitting beside me, and one was bathing my forehead with water. People were joking and laughing further away, and I could hear Bors' loud voice above anyone else's. Hearing quiet conversations above me, I was content to keep my eyes closed and listen.

Lancelot was talking to Tristan, asking the tracker why I hadn't woken up. I knew right then that Tristan had sensed my awareness.

I open my eyes and everything is blurry. I blink and then try not to moan as my wound flares up again. I hear Lancelot asking me a question but I am unable to understand the words. I feel a hand on my chest and a soothing coolness covers my injury. It seems the men have found the ointment. Feeling myself relax, I focus my eyes on Lancelot and Tristan and wait for the questions.

That is when I see Gawain and Galahad heading our way. Gawain was supporting the teen, which still looks as pale as snow. But I could see the determination in his green eyes as he let go of the blonde and eased himself down beside me.

Our gazes locked and I could read his seriousness and gratitude. He held his side and said, "Arthur, thank you. If you had not interfered…" I smiled and made to sit up as I spoke.

"Galahad, it was nothing. I am just sorry I was unable to come to your aid before you were injured." Then, my side erupted in agony and I could not help but cry out. Falling back, I grabbed the area and tried to get control over my pain. Lancelot was still beside me and tried to pry my fingers away from the wound. I heard him curse as I felt something wet upon my fingers.

As Lancelot and Tristan scrambled for supplies, Gawain was attempting to pull Galahad away. The teen was looking frantic and kept repeating that he was sorry. My breath was nearly gone from my body, the need to repress the pain nearly overpowering everything. But, I managed to call out to my youngest knight. He broke away from Gawain and fell back to my side, a look of pain flashing across his young features.

I was breathing heavily but knew I had to say something to him, something reassuring. I motioned for him to draw closer on my right side and to lean in.

"Everything will be alright. We'll head for the Wall as soon as they bandage me up." Tristan heard and looked to us out of the corner of his eye.

"Sorry, Arthur, but I am pulling rank on you. If you don't rest, infection will set in and kill you. We are not leaving until you are alright."

**-8-**

**There should be more later… LOL**


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